Convivencia
by chinarai
Summary: origin: Spanish(n.) lit. "living together", in the sense of living or working closely with other people with whom you share feelings, desires, or a common purpose. Roy and Riza through the years, from the beginning to the end.
1. i: dépaysement

Oh hey! Here I am yet again.

This is a bit old, says the file that it was last updated last year on October. Since I decided to watch fma again, I decided to upload this. This is my take on Roy and Riza's relationship. I'm hoping you can find this interesting! Each chapter is named after a word in a foreign language and they come with an explanation.

I don't have much to say for now - I'm just too sleepy.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Utwahay, 1898**

* * *

His hand found its way to her head, patted down her blonde hair, and she tried not to flinch and stand still under his touch, because that was what she had been seeking for a long time, a small demonstration of care or affection. While it was not unwelcome, it was sudden and it felt out of place to be treated in such a way, especially with the way their relationship had progressed, especially after all their previous contacts were accidental or firm enough to leave marks on her fair skin.

As soon as the touch came, however, it went away, his rough palms hiding from view in the confines of his pockets. The girl watched the man step out the front door, who was greeted with the harsh sunlight and cool breeze that had not caressed his skin in hours, if not days. Carefully, she reached for his brown hat perched at the very top of the coat rack, fingers barely managing to catch it between two digits, and she followed him outside, offering the accessory without a single word.

The man looked down at it, pulled his hands out of his pockets and held the hat behind his body, the back of his hands pressing on the base of his spine. Grey eyes met with brown, and he rasped. "Just remember that he won't be around to play with you."

With one last look at the unpaved road, she turned and disappeared inside her home.

* * *

 **dépaysement; origin: French**

 **(n.) when someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one.**

* * *

Sweat beads rolled down his temples and neck, dripped off the curve of his chin, at times his nose, and made his dress shirt cling to his form like a second skin. The boy, no older than thirteen, ran a hand on his nape and wiped at his brow with his covered forearms before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows; any attempt to cool down was worth trying in a time like this. The wheel of the cart he was riding on ran over a particularly large stone, causing the baskets filled with fruits of different kinds to shake, and the boy reached over, out of habit by now rather than reflex, to keep the apples from falling over.

"Sorry lad," the bald old man, who had so generously offered him a ride to his new master's home, said from over his shoulder. "We'll be there shortly." He hummed in acknowledgement, just to let the man know that he had heard him, and went back to sulking at the road.

When he had told his aunt slash foster mother Chris Mustang that he wanted to learn more about alchemy, she did not waste any time to find him a good tutor and even travelled from Central to East City to meet her source. The only thing he knew was that her source reassured her that the man was perfect for the job, but he could not provide them with any other information besides his name. So Madame Christmas all but tracked the man down, found more information than needed, and sent the boy away from Central all the way to Utwahay.

Utwahay was a small town on the southern portion of Amestris, beyond Rush Valley and Dublith, and apparently with agriculture based economy. Cars were scarce and the train station smelled like dry hay and barn, but in overall it was a nice place, certainly different from Central, and it felt good to see some change for once. He was, above everything else, thrilled to be travelling so far by himself; Chris would never let him take trains by himself, rarely she would if it was from Central to East City and vice versa, but most of the times someone accompanied him.

For the remainder of the ride, he was left to imagine what would make an alchemist settle so far from big cities with good libraries for research; townspeople told him of the rumors, that the man hated the military, that he was slowly going insane, and that one day his only daughter would die of a broken heart for being neglected so much, but none of them could serve as an explanation to this self imposed sequestration. The boy tried not to pay attention to these things and instead decided to focus on finding the man's house, because that was what mattered, not rumors that would not affect him in any possible way simply because the boy would rather form his first impressions himself.

As the sun sunk a little lower in the sky, the cart slowly came to a stop before a house. A picket fence surrounded it, in the back tall oak trees provided a cool shade to what was behind the construction, and the grass of the front yard reached past his calves. And there, before the door and under the harsh sun, stood a tall man with long light brown hair, slightly disheveled and wild, with his hands behind his back and mouth set in a firm line.

"Here we are, lad." The boy hurriedly hoped off the cart, patted his backside, ran his fingers through his dark hair and finally reached for his suitcases. When the man looked at him from over his shoulder, the newcomer smiled gratefully and nodded his head, earning a nod in return and a murmur that sounded close to _good luck_ before the horse trotted away from the entrance.

His naturally slanted eyes looked even smaller as he squinted at the bright sunlight, and after taking a deep, encouraging breath, he stepped forward, entered the propriety and sat his luggage down as he stopped before the man. "Berthold Hawkeye?" His palm brushed on his thighs as if to wipe away the sweat before he offered his hand; it remained in the air between their bodies for a long moment before the younger one realized the other party was not going to take his hand at all, and so it fell awkwardly to his side. "I'm Roy Mustang and –"

"I know who you are." Berthold replied curtly. His new apprentice peered up at him; he had small grey irises, an angular face, droopy eyes and his eyebrows seemed to be long gone. That was not the amicable face he was hoping to find, but the man appeared to be intelligent enough, exactly what one would expect from an alchemist.

The man drew his hands from behind his back, a brown hat held between two fingers, and placed it on top of his head whilst he sidestepped his new apprentice. "Go inside and unpack. We'll start once I get back." And out to the unpaved road he went, leaving the boy frowning at his retreating silhouette.

But there was not any time to waste. He was so excited! Roy hoisted up his bags and walked to the entrance, bumping the door with his shoulder and letting it open slowly with a long and high pitched squeak. Suitcases were set a little ways inside, and the door was closed; now, alone in the living room, he allowed himself to examine the space, and boy, it was so different than he expected, just like its owner.

While he was used to lively places, loveseats and divan couches decorated with colorful pads made of silk, fancy pieces of tapestry ornamenting the polished floor, he had no problems with simpler places, so it would not be hard to get used to the almost bare living room. Roy had just figured the alchemist would indulge himself with a few pieces of furniture, such as crystal vases or a chandelier, maybe a piano even (one that he had secretly hoped he would be able to use to practice), but the room was furnished with the essential, and even then it seemed to be too much. Berthold seemed to be the type of person who did not care much about where he was sitting as long as it was comfortable enough to spend hours doing his research. So the two armchairs, simple coffee table and the couch with a tear on the side fit into his tastes perfectly, although, in Roy's mind, the brown monochromatic design made the place too somber and too dead. The only things that were not brown were the walls, which were painted in pale cream, and the former white curtains that now were tainted in a yellowish hue.

His hands rubbed together and the boy spun in a lazy circle to take it all in as fast as he could. Past the furniture in the far left corner of the living room was a door, right ahead of him he could see the ends of a table behind a wall, undoubtedly the kitchen and dining area, and to his right –

He stopped short when his gaze fell on the stairs, back going rigid and knees locking in place. Before the angled staircase stood a girl, shorter and younger than him, with blonde short hair, large chocolate eyes that, despite the faint light of life and something he could not exactly pinpoint, were as dull as the rest of the room, if not more. Dressed in a long sleeved shirt and a slightly oversized pinafore that reached past her knees, she remained there, silent and still, until her small feet took equally small steps, and the girl closed the distance between them.

The phalanges of her fingers fiddled together almost anxiously and she gnawed on her bottom lip for a split second before saying softly. "Please, forgive him, he didn't mean to be so rude." Then she cast her gaze down at his suitcases and her small hands wrapped around the handle of one of the bags, but it would not move for it was simply too heavy for her.

Roy bent his knees slightly and touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. "It's okay." A thin sliver of light cut vertically across her face, and for a moment her eyes were of a deep amber and alive. She smiled, almost shyly, and with a slight nod of her head she retreated, her hand slipping from under his. He did not need to explain that he was fine with the man's behavior, nor that he did not need help with his things; she understood it.

"I'm Riza Hawkeye."

"Roy Mustang," and he offered her his hand, which she took after a moment of staring at it apprehensively. His fingers were slender, his skin was warm and soft, and the touch was nearly comforting, but she would not give herself the luxury of holding his hand for more time than necessary; with a quick shake, her hand dropped back to her side.

His master's daughter, he realized, stepped back towards the stairs and climbed onto the first step. "I'll take you to your room."

Wood whined under his feet as they ascended to the second floor, bringing them to stand at the beginning of a hallway lined with a couple of doors. At the end a lonely window let sunlight into the place, casting white squares of light on the wood flooring, accidentally highlighting cracks and dents. The same floor used up there was the same as the floor bellow, the walls were of the same color and nothing stood out; the house had a pattern and an odd interior design that made it seem like the rooms were all built separately and then mended together. But Roy was not there to notice such things, he was not there to play architect, and they did not bother him anyway; he was there to learn, he was there to return home years later as a successful alchemist.

Riza stopped before the first of the two doors on the left side of the hallway and gestured for him to enter the room first. His bedroom, as she had said previously, smelled of clean bed sheets. There was a bed, a wardrobe across from it, a desk and a chair at his disposal; nothing else was needed for soon enough papers and books would be littering the floor and much probably even the few drawers. "I just finished cleaning it for you," she said from the door, watching as he hoisted the first suitcase onto the bed and ruined the unwrinkled white sheets. "Would you like any help?"

There was a huff as the other bag was lifted and placed on the mattress. "Thank you, Miss Hawkeye, but I think I can handle it from here for now." He threw her a grin from over his shoulder, and her lips twitched up almost inconspicuously.

"The bathroom is at the end of the hallway, to the right. There are clean towels in the wardrobe; pillows as well." He voiced his thanks and she excused herself in that quiet voice of hers, the door clicking shut behind her back.

Alone in his new bedroom, the boy let his shoulders drop and heaved out a long sigh. The trip had drained a good amount of his energy, but he could not and would not lie down and take a nap; first he had to unpack, and he was pretty sure Chris Mustang had packed more things than necessary, because, after all, she was anything but unprepared. His foster mother would have sent him swimming trunks had he gone to Briggs instead, and this could explain the coat and jackets packed inside the first suitcase. There were at least a dozen of dress shirts, four vests (really, only one would be enough), five extra pairs of pants and the list went on; there was even a spare set of suspenders, brand new, he noted.

Chris Mustang was one of a kind. Ever since she took him in, she made sure that he knew what her plans were for him. Roy was raised to be the perfect fine man; he was taught the ways to play piano, and once it was mastered he moved on to the violin. He was well educated and behaved, read more books than he could remember and had an expanse and rich vocabulary, which was often used when talking to his aunt's best friends and important sources. The women working for Madame Christmas, to whom they referred as his sisters, too got the chance to attend to panting and dancing classes, as well as etiquette classes; no one was left out Chris's eccentric way of life, and although they were treated as princesses and king, she made sure to let it be known that they had to work hard to earn all of these luxuries. The girls needed those talents to please first class customers who looked for women that could do much more with their hands besides massaging and stroking, and legs that were not only meant to be spread apart.

In Roy's case, good grades were just the beginning. Chris taught him her methods to persuade and talk his way around to get things from others; she raised him as a smooth talker fine man and none of them saw any problems with that. It was known that for whatever career he decided to pursue later in life (he hoped it would be in the military) he would need these skills, so the more he knew and the more chances to practice, the more he would succeed. He would be forever in her debt if he got far in life, and he would; he would make sure of it.

Inside the wardrobe he found a couple of hangers, and soon the mostly vacant space was filled with pieces of clothing of neutral colors, each type grouped together and set from lightest to darkest. Another mark left by Chris on the boy was his tidiness despite his lack of want to organize his things; he was a guest and guests had to behave and leave good impressions, and that was a perfect excuse to push his lazy self to the side just a bit, to impress his teacher and show him he was capable of learning the mysteries of alchemy.

With everything set aside, and after contemplating if whether or not he should take a shower, Roy left his room and went down the stairs, hoping to find the younger Hawkeye and acquire information of rules he would possibly have to follow if they existed in that house. She was easy to find, there in the living room kneeling down by the couch, sewing supplies close by, an eye closed and the other squinted as she passed the dark thread through the needle hole. Tying both ends together she set about work, mending the tear on the side of the couch with care, and he stepped forward until he stood in her peripheral line of vision.

"How can I help you, Mister Mustang?" She inquired without looking up at him.

"Do you have a telephone?"

Her fingers froze for half a heartbeat, needle halfway through the fabric, and then she tilted her head up in his direction, an apologetic small smile barely touched her lips. "I'm sorry, Mister Mustang, we don't. Father permanently shut it off a while ago so people would stop bothering him."

Riza returned to her task after he nodded his head in understanding. There was a slight shake in her hands as they worked and moved, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip again. Chris was also teaching him how to read people, but before he could place his bets on how the blonde was feeling, she was back to looking calm and collected, leaving him to wonder if he had imagined things. She ran a digit over the stitches and returned the needle and thread back to her oval leather pouch nearby, closing it as she stood on her feet and set it on the coffee table. "Father is a busy man, always studying and working on his research. He doesn't like to be bothered." The apprentice had his full attention on her once she turned to face him once more. "The best time of the day to talk to him is in the morning right after he wakes up. Remember that."

Roy nodded his head and filed that information under _for future reference_. "May I ask why?"

Washed out white pillows were rearranged on the worn out couch as she spoke. "He just hates it when he's very concentrated on something and has to pay attention to something else, even if for a minute, so it's always best to talk to him before he goes to his study." Riza fluffed a thin pad before adding. "There's a door that connects his bedroom and study from the inside so he doesn't have to leave it, but he usually comes down for coffee in the mornings."

She fiddled with the curtains next; though she was too short to reach the railings, she was not about to climb on the couch in the presence of her father's apprentice, so that would have to do. "He takes it very seriously, doesn't he?" Riza tried hard to keep her hands working at the sound of his voice, thankfully she succeeded, and merely nodded her head. "I expected as much."

"Would you like to see our small library?" Roy perked up and nodded his head almost too enthusiastically, eager to finally see it.

As the girl led him to the door on the far left corner of the room, he already knew _that_ room would meet his expectations.


	2. ii: antiscians

It's been years, quite literally. I should've known, then, that it wasn't the best idea to publish this when I was feeling so down. But now I'm healed and it's all in the past, and I've come back with a thirst for royai that I hope will allow me to finish this one thing that I spent so much time planning back then!

I'll clarify some things. Roy's 13; Riza's 9. There's a 4 year gap between them according to the fma wiki. Utwahay is located in southern Amestris, so at first I gave it a warmer weather as opposed to Briggs since they're on opposite sides of the country and, according to the wiki, I got the weather right. Since it wasn't specified where Riza was born/lived, I picked this place because the name sounds like a relatively small town. You can find this town on the map.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

* * *

 **Utwahay, 1898**

* * *

Head buried in that book ever since he finished breakfast and as concentrated as one could ever be, Roy didn't seem to notice when the door of the library opened with a crack and Riza Hawkeye slipped into the room as quiet as a ghost. She was quick to cross the room with soundless steps and retrieve a book with dark green cover and deep blue letters on the front, running her fingers over it almost protectively before casting him a glance and leaving the room as swiftly as a sudden gust of wind.

A light breeze played with the short strands of her golden hair when she stepped out in their backyard, gardening tools in one hand and the book in the other. Riza stood there basking under the sun for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the smell of the oak trees set ahead of her as if it was the first, only and last time she would be able to do so, before finally moving closer to a couple of still blooming rose bushes.

She stood out in the scenery, dressed in white and pale against the harsh brown complexity of her house and vivid green of the grass and leaves, like light in the dark, misplaced but still somehow fitting. Her eyes swept the scenery, the direct sunlight turning them into that deep shade of dark amber, shining and young and innocent and tainted, and they still held the hopes and dreams of a growing child.

Riza knelt down by the rosebushes, making sure that her bare knees were in contact with the grass instead of having the fabric of the dress in between, opened the book in a certain page and set it aside to roll up her sleeves. The breeze picked up before slowly dissipating, leaving the air hot and dry again, but she was unbothered as she reached for her gardening scissors and tested it in a dry branch lying nearby.

* * *

 **antiscians; origin: English.**

 **(n.) people who live on opposite sides of the world, "whose shadows at noon are cast in opposite directions."**

* * *

It was like a therapy. Gardening brought to surface her most tender, careful and peaceful side, and also provided her with a distraction from the loneliness of living under the roof with someone that was so obsessed with alchemy as her father. The smooth _snap snap_ of the scissors and the shuffling sounds of the leaves and branches falling, added to the slow movements of her hands to avoid the thorns,  embed her mind, body and soul in an unusual and almost surreal kind of peacefulness.

Riza selected dry leaves and cut them off, let them float down to the green grass and kept on working as the sun caressed her uncovered skin. The open book showed instructional pictures and tips on taking care of plants, just one of the many that were constantly in her hands when she was up and about doing her chores. Berthold, although being the absent kind of father, took the time to check on her progress on school, and gave her extra work and books to read in a more advanced level to push her further forward. She was wise for her age and many claimed she lost her childhood when she was forced to learn to look after herself at home, doing the things her father should have done when she was only eight.

She knew she was pitied and wished they wouldn't bother with it so much. Their concern was appreciated, but she also knew of all the things that were said about the older Hawkeye; despite all the things he did, or didn't do in some aspects, he was still family, blood of her blood, and it was terribly disrespectful to care for one and shame the other. There were rare glimpses of that caring father she could hardly remember from her memories, such as that time on the previous day when he touched her hair briefly, and while he wasn't completely lost to his alchemy then she wouldn't give up on him.

Behind her back, the window cracked as it was forced open; the sound disrupted her peaceful atmosphere.

Now there was him.

Before, Riza didn't care much about the appearance of her house. Yes, she did want more color in it, maybe a couple of flowers and paintings, anything to give it a little more life like the other houses of the town, which were either painted in bright colors or had a vivid garden in the front, or colorful furniture. Some were too lively, others were too dead, some had more people than it could house, some were so empty and lonely, and others were just perfect. White picket fences, bushes of daisies and stones that paved the way from the street to the front door; gray buildings with cracked walls, broken windows and sturdy looking doors. The town was small, but it had buildings that fit into these categories.

But this boy, Roy Mustang, with his perfectly ironed dress shirts, clean trousers made of a rich material, and polished shoes with a new thin layer of dust, didn't fit in her house, maybe not even in Utuwahay. The moment she set her eyes on him, there at the entrance with that air of elegance surrounding him, she knew, deep down, that they wouldn't be able to provide any of the luxuries he was so used to, and no amount of tidying on her part would push her house one step closer to what his should be like. Riza could imagine it; crystals, fine tapestry, elegant couches, intricate paintings – a piano she was sure he could play.

When he asked her for the telephone and she lied, said that her father had turned it off, all she really wanted to do was bury her face in her palms and apologize, and say that they never really owned one in the first place, and that he wouldn't be able to keep with his uptown kind of life in a place like that. And that night she had paced around her room, stressing over the fact that if she had just a little bit more of cenz, just a tad bit more, she could have bought him a pillow made of fine goose feathers just so he could sleep a bit more comfortably. And in the morning when he entered the kitchen, it didn't escape her eyes how he seemed confused to see her there by the oven cooking eggs and heating water for her father's coffee, obviously unused to the sight of a young girl cooking.

They simply lived on opposite sides of the world and she wondered if it was some sort of divine joke that brought them together.

Lost in her thoughts, she accidentally angled her scissor in the wrong direction and – _snap!_ – sent the rose bud down to the ground, where it rolled away and away from her as the breeze gently blew by, and Riza watched it go with unseeing eyes. Glazed brown eyes stared at the ground as the boy still struggled to open the window further, but it was no use, he didn't know the trick, it wouldn't move an inch.

Blindly, she reached for her instruments and gathered them in her arms before moving to the other side of the backyard and closer to her crops, where she set everything down and kneeled on the grass in the same fashion as before, and set about to work.

* * *

The words were now blurring together, he couldn't focus his vision and nothing he read seemed to make sense, and it was all thanks to this abnormal heat. He thought it was bad the day before when he arrived, when his shirt got damp and sweat dripped down his brow, but now it was as if he could feel that his underwear could be soaked by the end of the day and that thought was absolutely disturbing. The boy had already rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the first three buttons of his fine dress shirt, he secretly kicked his shoes away when in the library and kept them hidden under his desk, but nothing seemed to make it more tolerable.

Roy racked a hand through his hair, the sweat making it stick to random directions, and placed his annotation sheets in the book to mark where he left off before closing it and pushing his chair away from the desk. The back of the house faced east, which happened to be from the where the predominant winds came from, and on that wall of the library two windows let the cool breeze in; or rather, they should, for one was working fine while the other wouldn't move one third up of the way.

The library, by the way, had met his expectations – book-wise. Shelves lined the rectangular room, not leaving one space uncovered, filled with books of every size and subject, each containing a code imprinted on their spine that matched the one carved into the wood of the shelf. That was how Berthold kept track of his books, by putting them back exactly where they belonged, and how he easily and effortlessly managed to find the first five books Roy had to read to initiate his studies. In addition to the shelves, there were chests and piles of books placed on top of stools, another work space and two armchairs across the room probably for pleasure reading.

He ran his fingers across the spines of the books as he made his way to the damned window, arms heavy and limbs tired because of the overwhelming heat, but still he hooked his hands under the second sheet and forced it up with all his might, gritting his teeth and huffing in anger, but as expected it didn't budge. His palms fell to the windowsill and he bowed his head in defeat, shoulders slumped forward and the weight of the world seemed to settle between his shoulder blades. Roy was just so tired; he had read nonstop since he finished his breakfast early in the morning and didn't take any breaks for water, didn't go to the bathroom either, and his backside was pretty much flat from sitting for so long.

When he lifted his head, he was surprised to find her there out in the backyard, in a different spot from the last time he had checked, but still under the sun and dressed in a long sleeved dress.

Women were as complicated as men, but were far more unpredictable, and they were the ones he liked to watch the most. It wasn't only because he was a boy walking through the first steps to reach maturity, though he did admit that enjoyed stealing glances at long lean legs and cleavages, but because they really were different and surprising, and not one was equal to the other. He had seen housewives taking their children to preschool, others that ran business so well he wished he could learn their secrets, women that joined the military and wore the proud blue uniform, single mothers that raised their children just fine, like Chris Mustang herself, and many, many others kinds of women.

Riza Hawkeye might have a category all for herself, for what he could see. During a small talk the previous night, basic information was shared among the two, and he found out she was four years his junior, an eleven years old child stolen from her childhood. It wasn't his place or his business to worry over it, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel concerned for her at some degree; the girl was, after all, so thin and so small, standing a full head shorter than him, and her dresses were almost too big, as if she had bought them like that or lost so much weight they were basically oversized, but it were her skinny hands that got him leaning towards the second speculation.

And really, he shouldn't listen to the rumors, but as he watched her setting plates, which seemed too heavy for her, and silverware on the table, he couldn't help but wonder why it wasn't her father who had cooked dinner. He had seen her do a bit of everything; she said she was the one who cleaned his bedroom, and later on he saw her stitching up the couch and then she was cooking (and, he added almost bitterly, she took a food upstairs for her father), she had almost washed the dishes if he hadn't stepped in, and now there she was, gardening. He could connect two and two together and draw his own conclusions; Berthold was an absent father and she had to grow up and adapt to survive in her own house, and in return she lost weight, also probably didn't spend too much time outside, for she was so, so pale, just like Roy himself.

In towns like this, in the countryside, it was usual for girls to learn since a young age how to cook and knit and do house chores, because not many of them were ambitious enough to find the will to leave the place and would end up marrying some man and later have three or so kids to take care of. But there was always an exception, and Riza, although she didn't seem bothered by this turn of events, wasn't entirely happy with it either, that much he could tell, and really, he couldn't imagine her living in a house that had more people than beds to sleep.

Undoubtedly, she had grown accustomed to this routine of balancing her time between school and house work, and her mental age was of someone in their late teens for sure. But her hardened hazel eyes that shone so brightly under the direct light of the sun still belonged to a child, and she was just as curious as one.

They stood by the sink after dinner, with him washing the dishes against her wishes and her to his right drying the porcelain and setting them aside, and she asked him about the weather in Central. That was the only question she had made that strayed off their usual topic of conversation that consisted of her asking him if he needed anything and such; she was just trying to be a good guest, on her and her father's behalf. So he answered her as he passed the first clean fork, said it was nice and much cooler than in Utwahay, described how it looked like in every season, and it was enough for her.

If she had grown in Central, perhaps they could have learned how to play the piano in the same place and would've attended to the same school; or perhaps they wouldn't, given their conditions.

Her fingers worked on the dark soil around the carrots, fluffing the earth before she reached for the bright orange watering can and rained water over her vegetables. Even from a distance he could see that this was a task that she enjoyed doing, and she took her time to care for the plants in the correct way. It was only when she stood with freshly picked vegetables in one hand and book in the other that he realized he had been watching her for quite some time, so he scurried away from the window before she could turn and see him there.

As he plopped down on his chair, the weather got to him again, and he wondered just how she managed to stay under the sun wearing long sleeves.

* * *

When they met again it was a little past noon. There was a quiet knock on the door before her blonde head peeked inside the library and she called him for lunch; he had, once again, fallen so engrossed in his reading that he forgot he was supposed to eat. Roy almost leapt to his feet to try to mask when his stomach growled as he suddenly realized that he was much hungrier than he had anticipated, but she had already returned to the kitchen and didn't see or hear anything that happened. He saw her going up the stairs when he left the room, a wooden tray in her hands and steam swirls wafting from the plate on it; his stomach growled again.

He found cooked chicken with carrots and potatoes inside a casserole filled with what smelled like tomato sauce, rice in another pan and a bowl of salad already placed on the table. She entered the kitchen when he was swirling the contents of the casserole with a long wooden spoon and the boy hastily stepped away from the stove when she arrived, but Riza offered him a small smile and passed him a plate that was set before the seat he had taken the night before, and urged him to help himself.

They sat together facing the other as they ate their meal in silence, and she ate so little that he couldn't help but embrace the wave of concern that washed over him, but he said nothing, because she didn't know him and he didn't know her, and he really didn't want to offend the girl in any way. Riza waited until he had finished to stand and take the plates away, and Roy had already moved to stand by the sink.

"I told you not to get used to it," she said as he took the utensils from her hands, meeting his calm gaze with a frown. Roy simply shrugged and placed a hand on her shoulder to push her to the side slightly, his way of saying to let him do it.

"And I told you this is the least I can do." Her lips twisted, but there was no chance of reasoning with him, that much she could tell already.

He headed to the upper floor right after the task was finished, used the bathroom and washed his face to remain wide awake. Limbs were stretched to release the tension and by the time he returned to the library he found her there, hands cupped under the lower sash of the window, and cheeks flushed after probably trying to lift it.

"It won't budge," he told her what she already knew as he came to stop behind her.

Her hands fell to her sides with a deep sigh. "There's a trick to open it, but I'm not strong enough. You are, though." He eyed her as she brushed her fringe away from her face, obsidian met with brown, and he stepped forward closer to the window. "Put your hands here," her fingertip tapped two specific spots on the wood and he covered them with his palms. "Now push forward. Once it cracks, lift it."

Roy did as told, pushing the heels of his hands into the wood and forcing it forward. It cracked. He breathed out a gasp of relief and pushed the lower sash up, and it slid smoothly as if brand new. "Oh goodness," he whispered as he lowered himself down and away on the floor, sitting back on his hands as the breeze that flowed inside played with his dark tresses.

"Now you know." She murmured with a smile, reached down to squeeze his shoulder lightly (he barely felt her touch) and left the room with a pile of books she had previously separated and left on his desk.


	3. iii: appetence

Hello, again! I got into a writing mood a few weeks back, and now I'm too lazy to do anything else lmao. I have a chronology file and I'm itching to get to the interesting part, a.k.a. around the time when Roy comes back from military training.

Anyways, I used an old url of mine on tumblr to post all my fma related work, it's _mustangsan_. Feel free to follow and interact (please). I don't have many friends that watch fma _and_ ship royai. You can even send requests for _Let Your Fields Burn._ Also, I'm planning my second fanmix. I have a tracklist made and am experimenting with it.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Utwahay, 1898**

* * *

On his second Sunday there, the eighth day since his arrival at the Hawkeye estate, Riza broke the news at night that she would be returning to school in the following morning, since he had already settled nicely and didn't seem to need any more help with anything. It shouldn't be much different, he guessed, the house was already pretty quiet, with her present or not; now he'd only have to have lunch by himself and he guessed he could handle it pretty well.

On Monday, she brought home the local newspaper and words that they were hoping for rain in a few days. The people were overjoyed, glad that the rain would save their crops; Roy was just glad that it would possibly lower the temperature of the town. Riza had said he would get used to it, and while it wasn't as unbearable as in his first two days there, he still needed to roll up his sleeves and undo the first button of his shirt, but now that he knew the trick to opening the window it made things much easier for him.

He had also finished his first alchemy book and was just a few pages into the second. Studying all day was tiring and draining, but the boy was too strong willed to give up so soon, specially without even really trying. The paper he had to write and present to Berthold Hawkeye was five pages long, and the man had taken it from his hands with what bordered a glare just two mornings ago. Roy had a feeling it would be difficult to work with him and he could sense that the man was hard to please, but whatever his master's standards were, he would meet them, surpass them even, and would make him so proud.

The only thing that could make him fail, the boy thought as he stood from his chair to stretch his legs and arms, was the weather that made him feel more sluggish than usual. The sun shone bright and the sky was still clear with just a few streaks of white breaking the blue; he wouldn't expect rain so soon.

* * *

 **appetence; origin: French**

 **(n.) an eager desire, an instinctive inclination; an attraction or a natural bond.**

* * *

It had taken some time, but the grey clouds finally arrived and slowly occupied the space overhead.

Roy was leaning against the doorframe and staring off at the back yard, waiting for the rain to come as if he had never seen it before. He would strip himself of his clothes and dance naked under it had he been any less civilized, and the mere thought of it had made him do a double take at what had just crossed his mind. It must be the weather, he told himself with a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. The dry, hot, and nearly unbearable weather was messing with his brain; that could only be it.

The newspapers laid on the tabletop ruffled gently as a breeze went past him and into the kitchen, news and pictures from various places of Amestris printed in the washed out grey pages. Chris had given him money before he left, said she would send more every month as well, so he could use it the way that pleased him the most, and Roy, one who claimed to love his country dearly, had given some and asked Riza to bring home the weekly newspapers that got to Utwahay. He had yet to find a radio so he could listen to the programs and keep up with what was going on in the borders, especially the one at south that met with Aerugo, for he wasn't so far from there and there was always the possibility that they would need to leave the area.

He had spent the day in the kitchen reading the news, a cup of coffee brewed that morning that had long ago gone cold to his left, a pen and paper to his right so he could annotate important information and details. Both nephew and aunt had the chances to sit down in the past and talk about his future, and he had made it clear that he wanted to serve his country. Of course, Chris tried to talk him out of it, because he was so young and could regret it, because she didn't want to know he was out there in the battlefield, but his mind was set and he was just as stubborn as her brother was.

Therefore, he read the news as much as he could, and studied about Amestris's history and its relationships with its neighboring countries, and these countries' histories as well. Any valuable material that could increase his knowledge and help him climb his way through the ranks once he joined the military was more than welcome, and he would gladly spend days and days reading and studying them.

At the present moment, his annotation sheet was folded and carefully hidden in the back pocket of his pants. It was unknown if his master did really hate the people who wore the proud blue uniforms, but if he really did, Roy wouldn't want him to know that he was planning on joining it. If Berthold saw all the newspapers and his notes, he would surely piece two and two together and would, much probably, refuse to teach him, kick him out of the house even. The apprentice would keep it a secret from him, but he didn't know if he would be able to keep it from Riza; the girl was more perceptive than he imagined, and it wouldn't take her too long to catch on to what he was doing.

The staircase creaked as the older Hawkeye descended from the upper level, an occasion that rarely happened past early morning. Roy kept silent as the man entered the kitchen to prepare his tea, something that his daughter did every day at the same time without fail when she was at home. Now that she had gone back to school, Berthold had to prepare it himself, and the boy wondered if someday he would be ordered to do it in their stead.

The first few raindrops fell from the darkening clouds as the alchemist filled the worn out copper kettle with water and heated it in the old-fashioned way, using matchsticks to light the fire in the stove. "Raining?" He inquired in that gruff and deep voice of his, cutting the silent air like an arrow.

Roy stiffened his shoulders and nodded his head only once. "Yes, sir." There was a hum as answer, then silence again.

Once small bubbles started forming in the heating water, and the rain had shifted into a light drizzle, he spoke again. "Would you pick Riza up at school? She didn't take her umbrella." Moments like this, in which he showed some form of concern for his daughter, were even rarer than his appearances in the lower floor of the house. Roy wasn't about to deny his request, nor would he let the girl walk home under the rain by herself, so with a silent nod he retreated from the kitchen and went up the stairs to fetch a jacket, then out the front door he went with the only umbrella residing in its rack.

The long blades of grass danced as drops fell on them, his shoes left imprints on the still dry earth as few tidbits of already damp soil clung to his soles. Umbrella over his head, he walked the distance from the estate to the entrance of the town, jacket draped on the crook of his elbow and left hand inside a pocket. In his head, the words in the newspaper repeated themselves. Creta had lost more territory to Amestris, and its internal problems were only getting worse. The cease-fire in Aerugo was over and soldiers were marching back into the field. The tension with Drachma was still ever present and a new one was arising east in the land known as Ishval. What a world he lived in.

Before long, he arrived at the entrance and remained rooted to the spot as a few townspeople rushed by under the thickening drizzle. In the end, he had forgotten to ask Master Hawkeye where the school was located, not that he would be expecting an answer in the first place. He could risk trying to find it by himself and either get lost or lose her. The people that had scurried away from the rain were far from him now, and there was no one close to ask for help. With a sigh, he stepped a little further into the town and waited by a tree for her arrival; surely, she wouldn't take long.

It had never occurred to him until now that they could go through a period of drought. It never rained much in Utwahay according to Riza; that, added to the usual climate of the area, only made it more susceptible. He couldn't imagine that; despite all the factors, the soil was rich and the plants were healthy. The town, for goodness's sake, depended on agriculture to survive and go on. The inhabitants were aware of the risk, and that explained why everyone was awaiting for the arrival of the dark rain clouds. If the drought really happened and Utwahay didn't recover... Roy shuddered; he didn't want to think of that.

More than ever, he wanted it to rain.

Off in the distance, he saw an approaching silhouette. It was her, he already could recognize that blonde short hair and fair skin anywhere. Moreover, on that day of all days she decided to wear a short-sleeved dress. He sighed inwardly and walked towards her with a soft smile on his lips.

The umbrella was tilted in her direction and she looked at him almost guiltily. "I'm sorry father sent you after me."

Not for the first time he noticed she never added _my_ before the word _father_. It wasn't his place to comment on that, but he chalked it up to her upbringing. She could be very formal. "It's no trouble at all," he resorted to say. "It's my day off anyway."

"You should be resting, then." Brown eyes stared down at the ground. Water drops hit the stone pavement and ricocheted back to their shoes; the sight was far from entrancing, but she focused all of her attention in it anyway.

He clicked his tongue. "Nonsense." A pause, then. "Here, I brought this for you." Roy held the jacket between their bodies, and Riza perplexedly eyed it. "I remember seeing you this morning in this dress, and I thought you could be cold."

And indeed, the skin of her arms was covered in goose bumps. Her hand slowly ran up from her wrist to her shoulder when she saw his eyes directed towards it. "You shouldn't have."

"But I did." Damn, she was stubborn. Just like him. Now he knew what Chris Mustang went through. "Come, just take it and let's head back, yes?" She hesitated, her thin fingers twitched as she slowly lifted her hand, and it hovered above the material with no signs of lowering it. "Take it," he urged in a much softer tone and raised his hand until her palm touched the fabric.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a rare spark lighting up her brown eyes, and her fingers finally curled around the collar of the jacket. With a satisfied smile, he amiably ruffled her short golden tresses whilst she slipped her arms through the sleeves. "Much better," he grinned down at her, and she gave him a shy smile in return.

Soon, they were on their way back to the Hawkeye estate, safe under the umbrella.

* * *

Roy stood from his chair, books and annotations gathered in his arms in a messy pile of paper. When they had returned, he decided to keep on studying. He would finish with the book earlier that way, and could go on to the next sooner than intended. He also decided to continue somewhere else; the rain was really getting to him that day, and despite being a library, the lights were really dim in there. He'd have to talk to Berthold, as much as he didn't want to.

The living room seemed like a good place. A couple of that thin pads piled together to sit on by the low coffee table sounded just perfect, and it reminded him of the times he studied in his room back in Central City. As he smoothed his hand over the rough cover of a book, he wondered if his letter got home and if his aunt would take too long to reply. When was the last time he wrote a letter, he asked himself, or made a phone call?

When he slipped out of the library, however, he spotted Riza sitting by the table, her own books sprawled and scattered on the smooth surface, and her hand halted its work when she glanced up at him from her spot. The pencil fell from her fingers as she straightened her back, and the boy placed his own books on a corner before leaning over to inspect her work. "Mathematics?"

"Yes," she reached for her books and gathered them on her side of the dark tabletop; his gaze flickered to the spines of the books, geography and history, and he held her current work sheet between three digits as he brought it closer to his face.

"Isn't this a bit advanced for you?" He remembered when he was still in school and he was taught basic statistics, which was a year before he left to study alchemy. Riza shouldn't be seeing it just yet, but here she was, drawing graphics and filling out charts.

The girl gently took the paper from him once he was done. "Father makes sure I'm ahead of the other children, says I need to study to get far in life." Berthold wasn't wrong, and Roy completely agreed with him; a good education would be needed if she ever planned on leaving the town to start a new life in a bigger city.

However, they both couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his words than simply being better than the countryside people of Utwahay.

Having noticed that they shared the same suspiciousness, he smiled an almost conspiratorial smile and knelt down across from her; she, in return, gave him one of the largest smiles he ever saw her wearing and twisted around to get a few cushions for him. "I would offer you help if you ever need, but I think you're smarter than me."

"Nonsense," Roy pilled the cushions she offered him before sitting on them, and didn't miss when her eyes darted to his stack of books. "If you're learning that then you must be the smarter one."

One dark eyebrow quirked up and his palm rested on the cover of the top book. "Don't you want to learn alchemy?" Riza shrugged her shoulders and patiently waited until he had flipped through the pages and found where he had stopped. Roy glanced up at her, expecting her answer.

Her reply came in the form of a quiet whisper. "Not really. I don't... Have an affinity for it, I guess."

Roy decided to push his luck. "He doesn't want you to learn it, does he?"

The last word hung in the air, and it seemed to echo inside his ears and head, among the walls even. It was almost as if he could see it crossing the space between them and reaching the girl on the other side of the table, and she sat there, eyes downcast and fingers twirling the pencil incessantly, shoulders rising and falling as she took silent breaths. The staircase cracked and her fingers stilled, quickly lowering the graphite tip to the paper as she resumed her work. Roy knew better than to stare at her, so he too averted his gaze down to the words in his book and pretended to read them.

The squeaking stopped when Berthold stepped on the landing of the staircase. It was silent again for long moments, and both youngsters in the living room could feel his attentive eyes on them, as if weighting if whether or not he should let them be in the same site together at the same time when they were both studying. Riza's hand only stopped when she averted her eyes from her work to look at her book and memorize the numbers before her gaze fell on the worksheet and her hands moved again. Roy flipped the page and leaned further forward, and only the sound of her pencil filled the air.

Hawkeye turned his back to the scene and went up the stairs again, soon they heard when his door opened and closed behind his back, and the pencil halted again. Their eyes met and both let out mismatching sighs. "I think he came to see if we had gotten back."

Roy almost wheezed out, "Are you sure?"

She shrugged. "He didn't hear us, don't worry. When he's researching he only tends to pay attention to exceptionally loud noises." That seemed to be enough reassurance for his heartrate slow to its normal pace. The apprentice leaned back on one hand and ran the other across his forehead; his teacher could be scary at times, and unpredictable. Even though he and his daughter were fairly distant, who knew what he would do if Roy got too close to her? He was, after all, a father, and all fathers acted like hawks surveying a prey when there was a boy close to their daughters.

Somehow, their last name made much more sense now.

"I wouldn't know," Riza said suddenly, once again staring at the pencil in her hand. Immediately, he knew she was giving him the answer to his last question before Berthold suddenly appeared to check on them, and she sounded as if she doubted herself.

Deciding to change the subject for her sake, and his as well, he touched his fingertips to the back of her hands, feeling her bones and veins under the thin pale skin, and smiled brightly. "Finish your homework and then we can do something together."

She eyed his open book suspiciously. "Aren't you going to study as well?"

"It's my day off," he reminded her with a shrug of his shoulders and a brief chuckle.

Her eyes narrowed momentarily. "Okay," she added slowly then poked the back of his hand with the graphite end of her pencil. "Do you know how to play chess?"

Roy bit the inside of his cheek and stared up at the ceiling. He knew many things, how to play the piano and the violin, how to dance, how to act in a formal dinner, how to get what he wanted, though this particular skill required some honing; but he didn't know how to play chess. Therefore, he shook his head negatively and smiled fondly when she grinned widely at him, showing white teeth and crinkling her eyes and all, the complete package for once. He decided he liked it, very much.

"Then I'll teach you."


	4. iv: komorebi

Hey hey! As I told _a mysterious reader_ , I'm far enough in the story that it allows me to update a bit more frequently. I'm getting near the part where it's actually more interesting to write (and hopefully read, too).

Once again, I've got a sideblog named _mustangsan_. The second fanmix I mentioned is already up, so you can check the blog to find the link.

I'm hoping you're all enjoying the story so far. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Utwahay, 1899**

* * *

"Pawns can only move forward one square at a time," he repeated her instructions as he placed the black pieces in a neat line on the second row of squares, "except for their very first move. They can never move backwards, and only capture one square diagonally in front of them." The last pawn was placed in a white square, and he rubbed his chin, eyes directed to the ceiling. "They can't move when there's a piece directly in front of them, and can get promoted when they reach the other side of the board."

Roy retrieved two tower shaped pieces from their box. "Rooks can only move forward, backwards, and to the sides, but they can move as far as they want." The boy placed them on the first row, each on one square of the corners.

He ran his thumb over the next pieces, ones that resembled horses. "Knights are different from the rest because they can move over other pieces." After placing each piece beside a rook, he continued, "Two squares in one direction, then one at a ninety degree angle. An L shaped move."

"Bishops are like rooks; they move as far as they want," the apprentice set said pieces down on the board. "But only diagonally, and they must always stay on the same color from the start of the match to the end."

Only two pieces left. "The most important piece is the king, but he's the weakest, for he can only move one square at a time in any direction." He placed the piece on a white square and moved over to fetch the last remaining piece. "But it's okay, because the most powerful piece is always by his side to protect him."

With that said, he placed the queen on the last empty square of the board and nodded to himself. Now that he remembered the basics, he could play more with her without problems.

* * *

 **komorebi; origin: Japanese**

 **(n.) sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.**

* * *

He groaned in frustration, flexing his fingers and trying to ease the slight ache in his bones. This latest essay Berthold told him to write about the whole concept of equivalent exchange had rendered him a few headaches and maybe two restless nights, and after four days of planning and two entire days of writing, his seven pages long work was finally done. And just in time, Roy thought as he stretched his limbs above his head. It was due the next morning and it would be delivered fresh out of the oven.

The boy lifted the paper off the tabletop and closer to his face, twisting his lips slightly at his handwriting. He had written it all in a reasonably calm pace, but still the words were drawn in a scrawl in which each letter was long, thin and uneven. A T wasn't the same as the other; two equal letters were different from the other. Riza's handwriting, in comparison to his, was considerably smaller and rounder, each letter was about the same size and two equals hardly differed from the other. Girls and their ability to have prettier handwriting. He just wanted one that didn't look like a medic's unreadable scrawl, and his did, much to his chagrin.

For the first time he felt comfortable under the influence of Utwahay's overwhelming heat, and for onc,e he didn't need to unbutton his shirt or roll up his sleeves. It was mostly thanks to the fact that winter was mild here in south, unlike in Central in which it was simply too cold some days to leave the house with only two thin layers of clothing. Just the other day he had received Chris's reply, and she asked him a bit about everything; if Master Hawkeye was treating him right, if he was safe, if he was studying hard, and even asked about Riza seeing as he had talked a lot about her when he went over for the holidays. And he found some time to write another letter and send it out, with details about his master's odd mood, a few information about the town, and even less things about what he was learning (no point in saying too much to her since she didn't understand an ounce about alchemy). He wrote more about the quiet blonde girl that he wanted so badly to earn her friendship, he admitted, and the way they were getting along surprisingly fine despite her shyness and their palpable differences.

The frown on his lips got more prominent once he stopped and realized that, perhaps, his aunt would get the wrong idea.

But the letter was way out of his reach now and she would have teased him regardless of all the things he did or didn't say. That was Chris Mustang, teasing him about the girls that openly voiced their infatuation with him or any girl that interacted with him at some point, really. Riza would be no different.

Riza, by the way, had more things in common with him than he expected. She was quite smart and knew how to hold a conversation that interested the both of them, though she never started one herself. It was always him, by the table when eating or mindless chatting while doing their things on the low coffee table of the living room, and they surprisingly could concentrate well enough on their books despite the small talk that flowed with little effort. One day he helped her tend to her plants, and on another, she said she read around one fifth of the books her father allowed her to put her hands on. Right now, he had the opportunity to sit and read with her, but he needed to find her first.

Roy already knew she was quiet. Sometimes it was hard to forget she was sitting right across from him, but there were days that she was nowhere to be found. Absolutely nowhere. He had checked her room once, peeked inside for a matter of seconds actually, and she wasn't there. He had even considered asking her father for her whereabouts, but he didn't want to see what Berthold could do when interrupted just yet – in fact, he never wanted to see that. It was bad enough that the man at times snapped at him or her, and when the words were directed at her, Roy had to stand in the sidelines and watch as she averted her gaze and fell silent under her father's tirade.

And then she disappeared to who knows where when given the chance.

It was nearly impossible to find her afterwards. The girl was just so small and thin she could fit in the space between the cupboard and the wall back in his home, and trust him, he did search for her in every odd place that crossed his mind, such as the chest in their library and behind a fully open door, squeezed between the wood and the painted pile of bricks. Roy scratched the top of his head as he stood in the middle of the kitchen and glanced around him like she could materialize from thin air at any moment. Where had she gone this time? Did something happen that he wasn't aware of? Did Berthold get mad at her while he was writing his essay?

It was ridiculous how concerned he felt for her. Maybe it was her personality, or maybe it was her lithe and fragile looks, maybe, and most certainly, it was a mix of the two that had him on the edge whenever she was out of sight for too long, especially when she was in the house. She could be outside, trip and fall and end up with her knee scratched; it sounded much better than being verbally abused by the very man that was supposed to love her unconditionally. Roy shook his head with a sigh and leaned his hip onto the counter, finger rubbing the center of his forehead and lips now tightly pressed together. It was better not to think about that, he told himself, there was no proof that the man really did say awful things besides the occasional snapping.

There was a thud on the upper floor and his legs were moving as soon as his mind registered the noise. Wood cracked beneath him as he shot up the stairs, and once he was at the top he spotted Riza's figure, outlined by the bright light seeping into the hallway from the window, quietly closing the door of her bedroom. Roy was standing before her in a matter of seconds, looming over her and refraining from grabbing her upper arms in fear that she would disappear from his sights again.

"Where have you been?" He hissed, hoping not to disturb the man in the room across from hers. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Warmth spread across her cheeks, and she cast a glance at the now closed door. "In my bedroom."

No, she wasn't there, because he had checked, not that he would tell her that. "Don't do that again," he told her in a softer tone, shoulders slumping in defeat. What if one day she ran away and he thought she was simply hiding? Roy suppressed a shiver and followed her downstairs, thinking of what to say next. Riza sometimes had a guilty look on her face whenever he expressed some concern. It didn't fit her well.

Riza had a book tucked under one arm, he noticed and instantly perked up at the opportunity he had been given. "You're gonna read?" He hopped off the last step as she nodded her head and hummed in agreement, and he grinned widely at her. "Great! Wait a second." After a speedy walk to the library that lasted a handful of seconds, he returned quickly to her side with a book of his own and patiently waited for her to pick a place where they could read.

The moment she went out the back door he frowned at her back, but still silently followed her as she approached the tall oak trees at the end of her backyard, fearlessly stepping over the roots and walking deeper into the portion of trees. It was much cooler there and it wasn't as bright, only few slivers of light slipped through the thick green canopy, highlighting small portions grass and dust that floated in the air. Soon they reached a small clearing, and upon glancing over his shoulder, Roy realized that they weren't that far from the house, and right across from them a dark blanket was set on the grass, a lonely canteen of water placed over it as its only companion.

He came to a stop and whistled. Riza went ahead towards the dark blanket and left him by the edge of the clearing. He returned from Central just recently and it seemed like during the month they spent apart she had lost some of the familiarity that they built up on the past months. She had been a bit more open before the holidays. Still, he wasn't too bothered about it, because Roy knew that in a matter of days they'd be back to the stage they were before and would only progress further.

Finally, Roy joined her on the blanket, opening his alchemy book to pick up from where he left off with a little less enthusiasm than he should display before his master's daughter. Everything about today, from the temperature to his current setting, made him want to lie down and sleep, and he wondered if he would manage to compensate later on some other day if he went along with that mindset. Some birds were chirping nearby and the gentle breeze rustled the canopy overhead, creating a comforting tune as the grass around them danced under the narrow columns of light that made their way through the leaves. Dust swayed in the breeze and sparkled under the bright sunshine like crushed crystal and he knew that if he focused too much on it, he'd be out in seconds. The only way to make everything perfect than it already was would be if there was a creek nearby and the sound of its running water reached their ears.

Riza was slowly thumbing through a book full of pictures that he discreetly tried to decipher from the corner of his eyes instead of reading the material provided by his teacher. Don't get him wrong, he was trying to study, but the words were blurring together and by the time he reached the end of a paragraph, he had no idea of what he just read and had to start over. The boy hadn't slept so well due to the essay he had finished mere minutes ago.

Roy set his book down and laid on his back to stretch until his joints popped, then rolled over on his stomach and inched closer to Riza to spy on the drawings on the pages. It was a compilation of instruction manuals to build different objects. There were countless chairs and desks and other different kinds of furniture pieces until pictures of toys took their place. Little trucks and cars caught his attention until they as well were replaced by other kinds of things. Roy observed them halfheartedly until she stopped on a particular page and smoothed it out with a palm.

A slingshot. He couldn't imagine why she'd want something like that, but judging by the way she was eyeing the pages with much interest, he chose not to question it and figured that he'd find out sooner or later. Roy read along to the instructions as much as his bleary vision would let him, but his eyelids were drooping much too quickly and soon he had his cheek on his crossed arms. The gentle wind played with his dark hair, which only made him feel all the more drowsy.

Scenes from past moments played in his mind until they blurred together and he was dreaming. He could see Riza kneading the dough of a bread she tried to bake from scratch and failing, the product a solid mass that was hardly chewable, and the one time he had helped her tidy up the house by tackling on the library and spending most of the day there because he had insisted on dusting every single book in the room. And then he saw when they sat together in the living room drinking tea in one of the rare days in which rain graced the town of Utwahay.

"Roy?" Her hesitant tone roused him from his sleep and he blinked his eyes, glancing up at her until his vision stopped swimming and he could see perfectly. Just recently, he had managed to get them to first name basis, and still she seemed a little reluctant to do so, because time and time again, she'd told him that her father had raised her to be polite.

The boy smiled slightly in embarrassment at being caught taking a nap and slowly sat up. Bringing a hand up to rub his eyes, he briefly wondered for how long he had been asleep. It could have been hours that felt like minutes, or minutes that felt like hours. All that Roy knew was that her book was now closed and her fingers were playing with a small pebble. "Yes?"

She glanced down at her hand and bit her bottom lip before looking up at him again with less shyness swimming in her brown eyes. "Does it snow in Central?"

Her question was simple and innocent enough, but it struck him with the realization that she never asked about his hometown, and Roy had no idea why. He'd half expected her to ask so many things, because she had never been there much likely, and he doubted she ever left Utwahay. Although her actions sometimes contradicted it, she just seemed like the kind of girl that was curious about things.

"You've never been there?" He asked just to make sure and she slowly shook her head.

"Dad says it's dangerous to leave."

Roy nodded, but he had to disagree. Considering the situation regarding Amestris's neighboring countries, Central was one of the safest places to be, alongside the eastern portion. Utwahay was close to Creta and Aerugo, which was not exactly a nice location... But he was not about to tell her that. "I see. It snows from time to time, and when it does it's about one or two feet. Nothing like the northern cities."

She nodded slowly and released the pebble so she could wrap her arms around her bent legs. "I'd like to see it."

"The Snow? Or Central?"

"Both."

He smiled slightly. "You will. I'll show it to you."

Roy knew that Master Hawkeye would never allow Riza to go on a trip with him as her only companion, but still, he made that promise. Even if it took him years, even if he was in his twenties, Roy would come and take her to Central so she could meet his family and visit all the parks, all the nice places and hopefully get to see the city covered in white.

That promise, however uncertain it was, made her smile at him until her eyes creased, and he knew instantly that it was worth it.


	5. v: stjerneklart

hmm WELL I haven't touched this since the last time I updated lmao that's not to say I haven't been writing; I've been, and that other royai fanfic is turning out to be a good writing practice.

Anyways, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that Edward Elric was bornon 1899. It's a bit of info to give the story some background, if you get what I'm trying to say? Also, on Monday the live action will be aired on Netflix and I'm! Excited!

Enjoy!

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 **Utwahay, 1899**

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Riza tried to stick to the shadows that fell on the sidelines of the road as she walked back home from another day of school. The long sleeves of her shirt protected her from Utwahay's usual harsh summer sun, but in exchange, it made her feel overly hot and suffocated. Still, it was better to sweat and get red in the face for some minutes than sport a worrisome sunburn that would surely earn her a lecture from her father if he ever noticed it.

The soil was once again dry and dust picked up with every step she took. There had yet to be predictions about whether or not it would take too long for rain to grace their town. Thankfully, the crops on her backyard were small enough that she could water them daily, but she worried for other townspeople that depended on their harvest. It was thanks to them that she had gotten seeds and seedlings to start her own vegetable garden.

She slowed to a stop and turned to a tree by the side of the road. Every year, the best apples she could find came from this tree that had many fruits for her to pick. Already, her mind was wondering what she could do if she got her hands on a couple of them. A pie sounded like a good idea, and maybe Roy could help her out a bit if needed. Riza used to help her mom in the kitchen when she was still alive, and it was only for that reason that she managed to pull off her meals quite well for someone so young. Yeah, her food was a little bland, but if she asked Miss Sorelia nicely enough, Riza was sure she could get some seedlings of thyme and other spices.

Her hand disappeared into her mailbag to retrieve the slingshot she took so long to make. Roy said he could try to transmute one for her, but he had yet to start his practical classes and she wanted to be busy with something that was not homework or house chores. Riza crouched down to take a few pebbles in her hand and put them in the pocket of her dress, except for one. Putting it in place, she drew back the strap and took aim.

Riza held that position for quite a while. If anyone saw her, they would surely think her father was rubbing off on her. She was not oblivious to the way they talked about him and his ways, though these statements were accompanied by praises on his intellect, which was very contradicting. She allowed her heart to calm and breathed in deeply, until she could no longer hear the sounds of nature nor feel the wind in her hair. Riza did not get her shots right most of the time, but she never let her failures stop her from trying.

After one final intake of breath, she held the air in her lungs and released the string. The pebble soared and hit its target: the little stem connecting the fruit to the branch. The apple fell down on the grass below, and Riza grinned at her small victory. Quickly, she retrieved another rock from her pocket and prepared to take aim again.

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 **stjerneklart; origin: Norwegian**

 **(adj.) a dark, quiet and clear sky in which the light is filled and illuminated only by stars.**

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It wasn't as much of an ungodly hour as it could've been when Riza found herself in the kitchen on top of her stool by the counter peeling apples. The red skin fell in ribbons on the cool surface, and she nibbled on those occasionally as she worked the sharp knife around the fruit carefully.

It was one of those nights in which she tossed and turned in bed, but couldn't sleep, and staring at the ceiling was making her antsy, so she decided to do something until she was exhausted. Reading had always been a good way to pass time, even if she didn't understand all of the fancy words in her father's alchemy books, but tonight she had a feeling that it wouldn't be enough. Riza needed something that would have her moving until she was tired enough to lie down and fall asleep immediately.

She had found the recipe in the bottom drawer in the kitchen and hoped she'd manage to do justice to her mother's pie. The dough was already in the fridge and she was taking her sweet time to prepare the filling so it would have enough time to cool. She didn't ask Roy to help her because he was deeply immersed in one of his books when she'd gone to bid him goodnight, and she didn't want to disturb him. Every day, she remembered when her father had told her that he wouldn't be staying in their house so they could be having fun, so she always stopped herself short from trying to get too close to him, despite the comfort she felt around him and the way he actively sought her out.

It made her a little sad, to be honest. She had a few colleagues at school and some that she dared call friends, but none of them was too close to her. Roy had come along just last year, and although they spent little leisure time together in between his studying, already it felt like they knew each other for years. It certainly didn't make sense, but she enjoyed his company immensely.

Riza stepped away from the stool to get some butter from the fridge and a large skillet. The house was silent aside from the occasional creaking of some windows and little animals the surrounded the place. She'd have to be extra careful not to make any noise and disturb anyone. At this point, she didn't know if the two alchemist were awake or not, and if she had to guess, she'd say that Roy must have fallen asleep in the library again, but there was no way of knowing what her father was doing unless she went upstairs to check for herself. The late hour wouldn't be the reason why he'd be mad at her if she did make any loud noise. There were two things that would get her in big trouble: skipping school and disturbing her father.

With the filling now set aside to cool and smelling delicious, Riza washed some of the dishes and sat on a chair to wait until she could finish making the pie. With her chin on her hand and kicking her legs beneath the table, she let her mind wander until it eventually brought her to a trip down memory lane. It was in times like this when her mother would place her on her lap and weave little braids in her blonde hair. They were too much alike, from the shade of their tresses to the shoulder length haircut. After her passing, it used to hurt to look at her reflection in the mirror, and without her mother to take care of her hair, her father kept it short because it was easier for Riza to look after it herself.

She crossed her arms on the tabletop and rested her cheek upon them. She hadn't cried over her mother in a long time and she was not about to do that now. Sometimes, Riza wondered if her father didn't look her too much in the eye because she reminded him too much of her. She honestly couldn't remember what he was like before the passing of her mother, if he was a better man or if he'd always been like this. It was unlikely that her mother would be attracted to someone so aloof, she being so warm and bright, but one would never know what brought them together.

"Riza?" The girl lifted her head to look at the clock – fifteen minutes had gone by – and then looked back at the source of the voice at the door. "Why are you still awake?"

A smile twisted her lips and she tried not to snicker. Roy was rubbing his eyes tiredly, trying to keep them open, which was proving to be difficult. "Couldn't sleep." She replied instead, masking the amusement out of her voice with her usual quiet tone.

He hummed and dropped his hands by his side, and then sniffed the air as if he hadn't noticed before the smell of apple, sugar and cinnamon that lingered in the room, which he probably hadn't considering how sleepy he seemed. "What are you doing?"

By the time he stepped into the kitchen, Riza was already rolling open half the dough on the counter and preparing to place it on the baking dish. "A pie," she said as he tugged the recipe closer to him with two fingers and squinted at the yellowish paper.

"Do you need any help?"

She shook her head. "I think I've got it."

"Okay." A yawn distorted his reply and he patted her shoulder absentmindedly. "I'm going to shower, then. I'll be back in a few."

Riza barely heard as he went up the stairs, concentrated as she was in placing the filling without spilling anything and making a bigger mess. The oven had already been set to preheat and hot air blew into her face as she set the dish inside. It would truly be an ungodly hour by the time this was golden and cool enough to eat, and by then she'd have to be extra silent. Riza cleaned up what she had dirtied now and sat on the steps of the backdoor to wait.

When the cool air of the outside touched her face, the girl realized just how hot it was in the kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves as far as they'd go, Riza perched her chin on her fists and looked around the darkness of her backyard. It was a common fear among children, the dark, and she didn't know if her classmates grew out of it. It had been a while since she felt fear towards something intangible, and now what plagued her were scenarios with a face and name, most of which revolved around her father and, just recently, Roy Mustang.

A few years back when her mother was still alive, she'd come to her rescue when she had nightmares or a thunderstorm started at any time of the day, holding her close as she shivered in fright and petting her hair until she calmed down. Her father didn't do such things, and Riza quickly learned that she should suck it up and deal with it.

She wondered about Roy's family more than she should. Try as she might to keep her distance to make her father happy, she felt an urge to get to know him personally. She had a feeling something good could come out of this. He sometimes mentioned his mother and aunt, and often got letters from Chris Mustang. Was Chris one of them? Were mother and aunt the same person or not? What about his father; whatever happened to him? Did he have siblings? What about his life in Central in general?

Well, Riza supposed, she wouldn't delve into this particular topic unless he came to her first. She was sure he had his own questions.

The subject of her musings entered the kitchen some minutes later and quietly sat down beside her on the concrete steps. His hair was damp and he smelled of soap, the smell easily reaching her nose thanks to the constant breeze. He let out a sight and propped his elbows on the step behind them, reclining as much as possible as his dark eyes swept along the sky.

"You don't see as many stars in Central."

Riza cast him a glance before looking up as well. She could imagine that the many city lights would ruin the view. Here by the countryside starry nights like this were so usual that, sometimes, people just forgot to appreciate them. Riza was guilty of that, but the sight could work wonders to calm her down in the times she got anxious or upset over something.

She looked back at Roy and studied his profile as he intently watched the sky as if the stars could disappear at any moment. He wasn't so much older than her and already was studying hard to be an alchemist. Why he wanted to be one, he never told her, but she figured it was a good reason, because her father had never taken any apprentices before and he was here now. Roy was working hard to deliver, reading book after book and turning in his essays before the set timeline.

"What is Central like?"

Roy turned his head in her direction and took while to respond. "Central is big, much bigger than Utwahay. There are many buildings and cars on the streets, many people walking about, too. It has a great variety of things to do, from parks to museums to places to eat."

She nodded mutely and played with the hem of her dress. Riza could only imagine the places based on what he had just said and few pictures she saw on the newspaper. Her father had never taken her out of Utwahay; he liked it here because it was small, peaceful, and hardly bothered by the military. On the off chance that he did leave the city, but left her behind, he never answered her questions about the towns and cities he visited or things he'd seen along the way.

"Central has some downsides, too." He went on, black eyes once again focused on the shining dots overhead. "The air isn't as fresh as it is here. Too many people and too many cars mean you'll be late for appointments. The botanical garden is pretty but nature untouched as we see here," he waved at the trees that lined the end of her backyard, "is much more beautiful."

Riza smiled a little and stood up to head back inside the kitchen, just now remembering that there was a pie in the oven. The crust was golden and she placed the dish on a rack to cool down, and Roy wandered back inside as if he had been called by the smell of the food. He hummed appreciatively and presented her with a large grin. "I can't wait to eat this."

She flushed slightly at his excitement and together they set up the table for two, pouring milk in glasses and making a little small talk until their patience ran out and they couldn't wait any longer to try it. Carefully, he cut the first slice and lifted it, steam spiraling up and intensifying the delicious scent of cinnamon and a little touch of nutmeg. And then, before she could take a bite, Roy proposed they head back outside to enjoy the view again.

It probably was the best thing they had done yet. On a list of interactions that she liked the most, this was definitely the number one. They sat cross-legged on the grass by the rose bushes, the coolness of the wind on their faces and the warmth of the pie in their mouths. Crickets singing nearby created a soothing tune that played in the background of their mindless chatting. The blades of grass danced along her shin, and Roy repeatedly mentioned that it was the best thing she had baked so far. Riza smiled secretly at her half-eaten slice of pie, happy that she had managed to recreate her mother's recipe well.

Another slice more for her, and two other for Roy, and they set their plates aside in favor of lying down and watching the stars. It was... nice. Very nice, indeed, just spending some time together and strengthening the bond they had. Riza wanted nothing more than to let go and allow him to become her friend, her best friend. She wanted more than just sharing the coffee table as they did their homework, more than the times they'd sit together to read, more than the occasional game of chess they'd play as dinner cooked.

He made her laugh with stories and jokes, and they tried to find shapes in the stars, or tried to identify constellations. She wanted more of this, craved even. It couldn't hurt to let him closer, even if he was going to leave eventually; she was sure they could keep in touch then.

Her biggest fear was her father and the way he would react, but she reasoned whilst watching Roy's eyes slip closed as he laughed at some silly thing she said, that they could be good friends if they knew exactly when it was time to be serious and study, and when they could freely joke and play around. Berthold couldn't expect Riza not to bond with his one and only student, especially when she spent more time around Roy than with her own dad.

As their laughter died down and weariness settled in, the duo slowly picked themselves up from the ground and walked back inside. Riza locked the door and returned some things to where they belonged whist Roy scrubbed at the dirty dishes and placed them on the draining rack. They slowly inched their way up the staircase, mindful of the steps that creaked under added weight, until they could breathe a little easier standing on the top floor. Roy stopped by his door and waited until she reached hers. Flashing her a grin, they disappeared simultaneously into their respective rooms.

Riza changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed, pulling the thin sheets over her body and turning to lie on her side, her back to the door. Staring at the wall, she tried to find any kind of fault in her reasoning. If they split their time well and stuck to it, no one would be upset; not Roy for playing instead of studying, not her for knowing that she was being a bother, and not her father for thinking they were both slacking. Satisfied, she snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes, easily falling asleep.


End file.
